


My Friend, The Superhero

by RiverOfFandoms



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8175715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverOfFandoms/pseuds/RiverOfFandoms
Summary: Peter, your friend for a very long time, comes by your house one night; bruised and bleeding. But he doesn't tell you why.





	

There was a knock on the glass of your window. At first, you dismissed the noise being real, how could anyone knock on your window? Why would anyone knock on your window? It was absurd. But then there was a second couple of knocks, and you knew you weren’t just imagining it this time around.

You stare up at your ceiling, your chest tight and your eyes wide with fright. A third knock proceeds. _Please, just go away._ You think to yourself, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. Should you get up and run to your parents? Call for them? You want to, but your throat is shut tight, as if someone has their hands wrapped around it.

“Y/N, it’s me, Peter.”

 _Peter?_ You sit upright immediately. _Peter, peter? My friend Peter?_ You shake your head, _now that is even more absurd!_ But you cannot let the thought go, what if it is Peter?

“Y/N, am I going to have to break in?”

You slip out of bed cautiously, your heart practically beating in your throat, and with a finger and thumb you peel back the curtain that only showed a silhouette. You peek through the gap and there he is, staring back, an exhausted, brown eyed boy who barely even resembles the Peter you know. You step back and open the curtain all the way, unlock the latch and then push it up. Crisp, cool air slides in underneath as well as Peter. He then shuts the window and looks up at you, neither excited or exhilarated – just there.

You flick your bedside lamp on, and your eyes widen when you notice the bruises on his face. His cut lip. You suddenly feel guilty for not letting him in as soon as the first knock. “Your face…”

He drops his backpack near the window. “Don’t worry about it.”

You shake your head at him, “Well I am worrying.”

He sits back into your chair, letting out a little huff of air as he does. His face scrunches up with pain and his eyes stay shut when it’s over. “Don’t.” His voice is small and soft. You look him over in his muddy track pants and grey hoodie… the blood on his hands and knuckles.

You leave your bedroom and collect a few Band-Aids, a cloth soaked in warm water and a few antiseptic wipes. You walk quietly into your bedroom again and look him in the eyes; he blinks. You stop walking as you near his fragile, bruised body and lean down onto your knees. You reach for his hand but he pulls it back in an instant.

“You don’t have to, I’m fine.” Flat voiced; no emotion. You don’t like it. This is not Peter.

“No you’re not.” You reach for his hand and this time he doesn’t pull it back; his skin is cold to the touch like he’s been outside all night. Doing what? You don’t want to know. Soon his worse cuts are covered and your cloth is blood soaked, the dirt from his face is gone and he looks a little bit more like himself.

“I’m sorry for coming over like this.” He closes his eyes again and your heart skips a beat with anxiety, all of his energy is drained –he can’t even keep his eyes open for long. What the hell was he doing all night?

“Why did you?”

“I had… nowhere else to go.”

You put away your things and wash his blood off your hands and cloth, you come back with a glass of water and hand it to him. He takes it carefully into his slightly shaking hand and sips at it gingerly. “Thank you.”

You walk over to the other side of the room and sit on the edge of your bed, staring back at him. He almost finishes the glass of water in long, slow gulps. He looks better, but that doesn’t excuse how he ended up badly beaten in the first place. You know he gets bullied by Flash and his crew from time to time but they’ve never gone as far as this… Unless Peter provoked it?

You can’t keep those thoughts lingering in your mind anymore, “Why, Peter?” You tilt your head slightly as you stare back at him, hoping for a response that will never come. “What happened to you tonight? Did Flash do this to you?”

He looks up at you, his lips creased and his brown eyes sad. After what seems like hours he finally talks back, “I’ve got to go.” He stands up and places the glass of water on the table beside the chair but before he can step away from you, you place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to leave.” You look up into his eyes, they glance over his bruised cheek and jaw; they fall onto his wet lips. You stare down at your feet and drop your hand from his arm.

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry I came here, I shouldn’t have.” He side-steps around you and heads for the window, you follow him eagerly. After he gathers up his backpack, he climbs through the window but doesn’t leave; instead he turns back to you. He looks as though he’s going to say something but the words never escape his lips.

“Will you come back?” You call out as he swings his legs over the balcony railing. “If this happens again, will you come back?”

Finally, his lips move into a smile. A Peter smile. You feel a sense of relief flood over you, thankful that a piece of him has decided to show itself to you tonight after a continuous lack of emotion. “If you want me to.”

“Of course I want you to. But I hope you don’t because that would mean you’re hurt again.”

Peter’s hands clasp the railing that he stands behind now, “I can’t promise you anything, if that’s what you want me to do.”

“Peter…” A cool breeze blows over your face, a shudder of goose-bumps trails your arms and legs. “Just… at least try not to get hurt, okay? Just try.”

“Okay, Y/N.” He looks down at the distant ground beneath him and then back up at you, “Have a good night sleep, yeah? Don’t you dare sit up all night thinking about me. If you do, I’ll know. I always know when you haven’t slept well.”

You smile at this, “Okay, I won’t. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

* * *

Peter comes back the next night. And the next after that. And tonight. You sit up on your bed this time, staring at the window opposite to you. You tell yourself not to worry, and so far you haven’t, but it edges closer and closer each night he comes in even more bruised than before. Now you know it can’t be Flash, he’s a bully but he’s never been this out of control. But somewhere deep inside of you, you still hope it to be Flash because then it would make sense. If it’s not, then what else could it be? Your heart sinks, you don’t want to think about it being Peter’s fault. You don’t want him to be the one bringing it on himself.

At the first knock you are there to open it before he can knock again, he slides in like every other time and sits in that chair. You fix him up. He drinks some water. You know the routine now, he usually leaves without any hint of conversation, but instead he still lingers.

And then his stomach rumbles.

You smile, “There’s some leftover lasagne?”

He looks up at you gratefully, “That would be amazing, thank you.”

Five minutes later, Peter is busy shovelling in your Mom’s home cooked lasagne with satisfaction written all over his face. He places the bowl down next to the glass of water and stands up with a bit of a stretch. He sits down beside you on your bed but he doesn’t say anything, he just stares at his hands that sit in his lap.

You fall onto your back and curl up, wishing he would just leave now so you could forget about his bruises and sleep. But at the same time you are grateful he stays longer than before. You feel the bed shuffle and dip as he lies down next to you, his knee brushes up against the back of your calf. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” You whisper back, your eyes refusing to let you fall asleep.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You roll over in your bed and face him and take in the extremity of the closeness you both have. “For a little while, if my parents found us they would disown me.”

He laughs quietly at this which makes you laugh as well. Your finger reaches over to his face and you gently feel the skin where it has been bruised, he doesn’t pull away or wince in pain. Your finger travels down to his lip where it’s been sliced open again, this time he flinches away.

“Sorry.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Sure thing, Parker.”

“Okay, maybe it does hurt. A little.”

“A lot?”

He smiles briefly, “Yes, alright, a lot. But I can put up with it.”

Your finger drops from his face. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you Peter?”

He blinks and then rolls over away from you, breaking the intimacy you had. “No.”

“Then why are you being hurt like this each night?”

He curls himself up into a ball and doesn’t respond for a minute or so.

You wrap your arm around him and engulf him into a kind of hug as best as you can. Your other hand traces his back with a finger in calming circles, “Don’t push me away. I can’t stand it.”

“But it’s all so hard to explain. I don’t know where to begin.” He rolls back over and touches your face, “I don’t want it to change us. Because if it did, if one day you stopped talking to me or caring about me I would only have myself to blame.”

“Have a little more faith in me, Parker.”

He smiles at your little remark, “It all began when…”

At the ending of his story you look into his eyes and see Peter. Finally. Not just a snippet, not just little pieces here and there. You really see him, for who he really is. And you fall in love. “You… All this time you…” You pull him into a hug, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?”

You push back from him a little to look at him, “I thought you were in trouble. I thought you were dealing drugs or getting into gang fights or something… I… And all this time, you’ve been hurt, it’s because you’re fighting crime!?”

“You thought I was a drug dealer?”

“Well, I don’t think you being a crime-fighting, spider suited, avenger looking superhero would be the first thing to come to mind!”

You both laugh together, almost hysterically, and after you’ve stopped laughing because you’re supposed to be quiet since your parents are sleeping, he shows you his Spider-Man mask. You take it out of his hands carefully and put it over your own head. When you look in the mirror you look terrifying, so terrifying that you gasp frighteningly at your reflection. Peter laughs at you and how you look, and he’s right to. The mask was of course made to fit Peter’s head, not yours, so it’s quite baggy in weird areas making your head look saggy and old. You take it off and hand it back to him, “I still can’t believe this.”

Peter puts on the mask and then the rest of the suit, “Now do you believe me?”

When you turn around you gasp, all of Peter is gone, and there stands Spider-Man. The new hero that started to help save the world. “You look… incredible.”

“I feel incredible. Every time I put this suit on I feel as… as though I can do anything.”

He takes off his mask, “Maybe one day I can take you for a swing.”

You laugh, “I’d like that.”

He gives you a goodbye hug, “Thank you.” And then he slips his mask back on before he walks out onto your balcony. “Can I… Keep coming over?”

“Of course,” you say in reply. He turns to go and you suddenly call out to him, “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe, okay?”

You can’t see his smile but you know he does, “You too Y/N, have a good sleep.” His web shoots out as he leaps away, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You hop onto your balcony and watch in amazement as he swings away, flipping and gliding through the air. You smile as you watch your friend, the superhero, disappear in the distance.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this one shot! If you did, I would HUGELY appreciate a follow on my Tumblr blog: @spiderfriendly - this is where I'll be posting all of my future Spider-Man one shots :) Thank you!


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